But A Kiss is Just a Kiss
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Illya has stressed time and time again to not be touched when he's sleeping. Napoleon is not the sort of man who takes things like that lying down. My thanks to Sara and Sparky955 for their beta help and kind advice
Illya Kuryakin was running. He always seemed to be running in his dreams. Whether it was away from or towards something, it never mattered. He always ran. There were often guns, and sirens, flashing lights and the heavy _whop whop_ of a helicopter's blades. This time there were dogs. He hated dogs.

Illya ran, desperate to escape, he thought, but it was hard to tell in dreams. He just knew he had to be somewhere else. And Napoleon was somewhere, close, he hoped.

He stumbled and the dogs were upon him, biting and tearing at his clothes until the handlers dragged them off. Strangely, there was no pain, just a tremendous sense of loss. The let them do all the work and him to his feet. They put a gun to his head. He felt the hot metal touch his temple and heard someone shout his name. He reacted by lashing out. A woman screamed and the blood pounded in his head as he moved from sleep to a groggy wakefulness.

It took him a moment to recognize that the scream had been from Gaby. He had her pinned down on his bed, his forearm against her throat, choking the life from her. Her face was red, her eyes were wide and she struggled to push his arm from her neck.

Illya released her and Gaby scrabbled away, stumbling and nearly tripping over the bedsheets and blankets. She took refuge on her own bed, gulping both air and sobs.

"What did you do?" he demanded as he tried to still his shaking hands.

"You were having nightmare," she wheezed. "I tried to wake you up, that's all." There was knocking at their connecting doorway and she rushed to open the door.

It took him a moment to realize what must have happened and he raised a still-quivering finger at her as Napoleon appeared.

"Never touch me when I am sleeping! Never!"

"You're insane!"

Napoleon Solo winced and rolled over, carefully stretching an aching leg. Too much sitting in a cramped cockpit had left him stiff and that had resulted in leg cramps. He wondered if that had been what woke him.

Then Napoleon heard something. There were muffled shouts and thumps from next door, but the actual words didn't make it through the wall. Apparently, the Russian was on another of his violent outbursts.

"You need therapy, Peril," Napoleon grumbled as he climbed from his sanctuary of warm bedclothes. He pulled on a robe and limped to the door. "Hell, we all need therapy, but you more than most."

He knocked on the door and it flew open. A sobbing Gaby was in his arms, her neck red and bruised. Illya was scowling, but when didn't he? Napoleon looked from her to his partner.

"What's going on?"

"Never touch me when I'm sleeping!" Illya shouted and retreated to the bathroom.

"What happened?" Napoleon asked, rubbing Gaby's back gently.

"He attacked me!"

"Now whatever else you could accuse Peril of, it isn't the random attack of women, Gaby." Still, it was obvious that something had happened and that the woman was very frightened. "Perhaps we should switch rooms. You can have mine."

"Yes, please. You take the crazy man." She pushed past Napoleon and shut the door behind her.

"Um, okay, then…"

By the time Illya came out of the bathroom, his face scrubbed pink, Napoleon was in Gaby's bed. Illya merely looked at him, nodded, climbed into his and turned off the light.

"Are you okay, Peril?"

"I am fine. Go to sleep."

Napoleon propped himself up on his elbows, yawned and looked over at his watch. It was still early. They had another three hours before they had to get up for the airport. The watch reminded him of Kuryakin and he considered the man.

He wondered last night why Waverly had continued to room Illya with Gaby, a fact that Napoleon felt was slightly scandalous, considering the stigma of unmarried women and men in the same hotel room. The mission was over. He'd have thought Waverly would have given Gaby a room of her own. Instead he moved Napoleon into a connecting room. Then Napoleon remembered something he'd read in Illya's file. Like Napoleon, the man swung both ways, something helpful in their line of work.

He came to a decision right then and there. He shrugged, then climbed out of his bed and slid in beside Illya, draping an arm over the man's waist. When nothing happened, he lightly stroked Illya's stomach.

The noise he made was akin to the purring of a cat and he arched towards Napoleon, still seemingly asleep. Napoleon took that as an invitation and let his hand drift lower, fingering the elastic of Illya's underwear before slipping beneath it.

"What are you doing, Cowboy?" Illya's voice was very soft.

"Um, charting virgin territory?"

"Hardly."

Napoleon found Illya's penis, hard and warm. "Any chance you'll attack me, Peril?"

"Only if you stop." Illya moved, thrusting up into Napoleon's hand.

"Oh, I can assure you none is planned." Napoleon moved his fingers dexterously as if playing an instrument. Illya responded with another rumble of pleasure, his expression sleepy, as if he was still lost in a dream. "I thought you didn't like to be touched when you were asleep."

"You will find it very much depends upon who is doing the touching." Then Illya found Napoleon's penis, ready and anxious, and Napoleon moaned in response as strong fingers encircling it.

It became apparent after that why Waverly had not originally roomed them together, but really, it wasn't their fault. Exhausted from an enthusiastic bout of sex, they slept through the alarm and missed the plane. It would prove to be one of many throughout their career for never once did Napoleon hesitate to touch a sleeping Russian. And never once did the sleeping Russian mind at all.


End file.
